


Twirling Miracle

by torikasa



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torikasa/pseuds/torikasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien tries to propose to Marinette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twirling Miracle

**One.**

Marinette, love of his life, bane of his existence. His love, his sin, his everything. Mah-ree-net: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Mah. Ree. Net.

She was the epitome of perfection, yet at the same time she managed to stumble over every single other word. She graced everyone with a small smile, the corners of her lips curled upward, gently, purposefully, except for him, who she only offered a passive look alongside red cheeks. Even now as a boyfriend-girlfriend pair, her lips still trembled around him, her voice coming out in a soft and gentle whisper, hot breaths against his face.

Other times, she was more courageous. She would brush her fingertips against his pointed chin, urging him to caress her in his arms, to brush his lips against hers in rough passion, a placid temptress in the making. Fact: she only behaved in such a way when she was hidden behind her mask and assumed her persona as this city’s protector as well as his wily siren. Fact: he understood that she only acted in this charming manner because her blushes were easily hidden behind that red mask.

It had been years since their togetherness. Five years, he’d like to point out, and he had been musing that it was finally time to ask her the question: _will you marry me?_

The plan was simple. He was a suave enough guy to understand that to make her swoon is the way to victory. Bring her flowers. Offer her a piece of cake. And when it was finally time, when he was finally on one knee with her hand in his, he would ask her those words, pointedly, and she would naturally say yes, yes, yes—and then he would slip a thin, silver ring across her long fingers and kiss her under the moonlight.

It was supposed to be simple, except it wasn’t, for he wasn’t as suave as he had initially thought and the moonlight was covered by clouds that night. The flowers flew away in the nighttime breeze, aggressively throwing petals into her flushed face, and his pants ended up getting soaked in a puddle that he had completely overlooked. And then, horrifyingly, he had realized he forgot the ring, of all things! Well, at the very least, the cake, which was in her favorite flavor, red velvet, was to her liking.

Her giggles resounded in the dark, empty air, forcing him to look away in shame. She had just finished licking up the remaining crumbs of the moist, red cake and was patting him on the shoulder as if to say, “Good job, kid.” He was mortified by the action and recoiled from her, hearing her soft giggles fill the nighttime air again, carried by the gentle breeze.

“Thanks for the cake, Adrien,” she said, softly, her eyes glowing in happiness. She stooped down to his level in order to be face-to-face with him, and all he could do was purse his lips in shame. She poked his nose playfully, giggling not ceasing. “What’s the occasion?”

He let out a disappointed sigh. “No reason.”—and that was the end of that. Plan: failure. Adrien: sad.

But at least, he thought, smiling, his lady was happy.

**Two.**

As ordinary Adrien Agreste, he was a reserved man who still, admittedly, flushed when he saw Marinette’s loose locks drape over her shoulders and curl in a way that attacked his heart. As his alter ego, he would still be a ruddy mess whenever Marinette so much as touched him, but he soon realized that he was also more easily able to tell her what he really thought, and he was eloquent about it too.

For tonight, he prepared a poem specifically to woo his darling. He had worked on it for a solid week, crumpling many papers and throwing away a plethora of emptied pens in the process. When he had finally completed, he announced it a masterpiece and practiced every single line, memorizing each word, each gentle curve of every letter, each syllable and the way they clicked against the roof of his mouth.

 

_My darling, my love—the light of my life_

_My life is full of trouble, full of long strife_

_But with you by my side, everything is alright_

_And now here I am to give you my plight_

_My darling, my love—the light of my life_

_With you, happiness is plentiful, prolific, rife_

_Whenever I see you, you’re just a wonderful sight_

_Your eyes so pure, your hair sprinkled with twilight_

_My darling, my love—the light of my life_

_Will you take this ring and please be my wife?_

 

Oh, it sounded too cheesy! Will she like it? What if she doesn’t? Panic arose as beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face. No, regardless of what she thought, he had to do this. It was now or never, he thought.

That night, as Chat Noir, he called his sweet Ladybug to meet him by a rooftop near the Eiffel Tower. When she arrived, she questioned him with a confused look on her face. All the while, he twiddled with his thumbs as he cleared his throat, ready to recite the poem.

But his voice wouldn’t escape his throat, coming out as a hoarse and haggard cough instead. A worried Ladybug knelt down to him and rubbed his back, the palms of her hand feeling like a soft pillow against his back. She soothed him with trivialities, with words of nothing, caressing his cheeks in her hands before placing a soft peck on his nose.

Chat Noir definitely wasn’t able to speak at all after that.

(He later found out he had a sore throat from practicing the poem so much.)

**Three.**

Hiding the ring in food was probably the most cliché way to propose that Adrien could think of, and yet he found himself waiting patiently in a café with his beloved right in front of him, who was playing with her dark locks shyly.

“You’ve been spoiling me recently,” she said thoughtfully, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. “At this rate, I’ll have cavities!”

“It’s just payback for giving _me_ cavities, my sweet lady,” he said slyly. All she did was roll her eyes, but the small smirk on her face showed that she was at least slightly amused.

The two continued to flirtatiously banter, throwing crafty replies and remarks at each other consistently like a tennis match between two head-over-heels lovers. Finally, before Marinette could finish another cunning sentence in response to Adrien’s flirty grin, their dessert had arrived. In front of them was a small, translucent glass of chocolate mousse, covered in a decora of chocolate flakes complete with a leafless strawberry to top it all off.

With a perfectly manicured hand, she picked up the small spoon left slightly aside the dessert and scooped up a spoonful of the mousse, savoring the deliciousness. Adrien eyed her the entire time, slowly finishing his own dessert but not paying much attention. The anticipation that crawled all over his skin was evident from the way he was shaking, but as another spoonful and yet another spoonful went past her glossed lips and into her mouth without a single reaction other than complete and other bliss, the anticipation slowly drained from him and instead was replaced with feelings of trepidation.

All of a sudden, the waitress came back and whispered in Adrien’s ear. “Um, sir, I’m sorry but I accidentally misplaced your order.”

“You _what_ ,” came his outcry, a little too loud for his own good. The whole restaurant was staring at him now, everyone dropping their utensils and concentrating on the way his face flushed in shell pink. “I mean, you _what_ ,” he whispered softly back at her, the waitress promptly explaining that their orders were mixed up and were somewhere else in the room.

Just then, choking noises could be heard from behind him. A rotund man who looked to be in his forties was grabbing his neck in desperation, falling to the floor in a fit of chokes and wheezes. Despite his usual heroic endeavors, Adrien hesitated in helping the poor man, watching as his lady and the rest of the restaurant were in panic, outcries of “who knows CPR?” clogging the room. He knew CPR, but staring at the old man’s chocolate-covered lips was enough to make him want to vomit.

“Adrien, you know CPR!” Marinette screeched worriedly, pushing him towards the choking victim. “Help him!”

And he obliged, because he couldn’t deny his lady—and also because everyone was staring at him again, telling him to hurry up and help the old man. Before the inevitable, he stalled by first performing rhythmic chest compressions a little too vigorously in order to avoid mouth-to-mouth. Unfortunately, the victim was still choking and he had no other choice but to cover the old man’s lips with his own, chocolate mousse smearing against his moistened lips, as he blew into the man’s mouth, his mind internally screaming in disgust. Then, he inserted his finger inside the choking victim and scooped out a ring, hiding it from Marinette before she got a good look at it.

Everyone was cheering for his heroic actions—all except for him who accidentally threw up in his mouth. That was definitely _not_ the kind of lip-to-lip action he was fantasizing all night.

Though, for his efforts, he did receive a sweet, tender hug from his girlfriend. He embraced her back, nuzzling his nose into her hair and taking in the faint scent of strawberries that he loved so much. It almost made him forget what had just happened.

Almost.

**Four.**

Running out of ideas, he decided to turn to the self-proclaimed expert of all things romance: Chloé Bourgeois. Her voice had hints of shock in them when he called. He had begun the conversation by asking for help on how to propose, and despite her previous disapprovals of him and Marinette being a couple, she seemed to humor him with little contempt for the dark-haired girl save a jokingly sly remark or two about how it would be better if he was with the mayor’s daughter instead.

They talked for about an hour. Adrien had a pen and a small, empty notebook ready to write down all her ideas, but mostly, Chloé was just talking about herself and how her life had been. She did, surprisingly, offer one piece of advice to him that was more or less genius all things considered: throw an extravagant party all for proposing to Marinette. That way, there was no way he could possibly fail, and everyone else would know too. She even, to his surprise, helped him write a speech of his proposal.

With that, the blond started making the preparations for the party. He detailed all his ideas to his secretary, telling her to make it grand and to invite all his closest friends. The theme would be white—white roses, white suits and dresses, white everything—to accentuate the purity of his beloved.

On the day of his extravagant party, he found himself staring at a ballroom of white-clad people, beautiful pearls strung around the ceiling, rose petals sprinkled on the floor. Everyone seemed to be enjoying himself, and he in his own white suit started sauntering down the steps, trying to look for his girlfriend. Though, everywhere he looked, he found no sign of her. Maybe she was fashionably late?

He became increasingly worried as the night dragged on. Still no sign of Marinette. He bumped into Alya, who was nonchalantly speaking to Nino about who knows what, and out of sheer panic, he began rambling about how Marinette wasn’t here and that she was way too late for comfort and that all of this was for her and—

Alya started to laugh, loud and full of vigor, her voice cackling almost maliciously. “She’s not here because she’s on a business trip. Didn’t you get a memo?”

Adrien didn’t think so… But as he flipped his smartphone out of his pocket and stared at all the text messages he had gotten from Marinette, he realized he had been so preoccupied by the preparations that he never once considered speaking to Marinette.

He fell to the ground, wrapping his hands around the ring that was supposed to go on his girlfriend’s hand _tonight_ in a tight fist. Ceasing her cackling, Alya knelt down to him and patted his shoulder, something Marinette would usually do, and told him that it was alright. Everyone was still enjoying the party, and Marinette would come back soon.

But all he could think of was how much of a big, fat failure he was.

**Five.**

Simplicity was always the answer, and because all of his other convoluted schemes seemed to backfire on him, he decided to just simply ask her. All he would do is ask her if she would marry him, slip the ring on her finger when she says yes, and then they would live a happily ever after and have three babies—no, two—and maybe a puppy… no, a cat… and that was that.

But before he could ask her to meet up with him, she came up to him first and told him she had something “really urgent” to tell him tonight.

The whole day, her words ingrained themselves into his mind, incessantly bothering him every second. What exactly did Marinette want that was supposedly urgent but could wait until later on that night? Was she alright? Did she… did she want to break up with him?

He gasped at the thought, a strong gut feeling bothering him. Maybe, just maybe, she did, but why? He was always nice to her and would shower her with gifts and love and everything she could ever want, and just seeing her smile made him content, so why on earth would she want to break up with him?

No, no, Marinette wouldn’t do that. There had to be something else that was bothering her.

All day, Adrien fidgeted. He fidgeted the entire time until he found himself face-to-face with his darling, his beloved, his lady, staring right back at him, her mouth pursed in a thin line. Her expression was unreadable, and he worried for the worst.

He closed his eyes, waiting for her to say something horrible to him, but all he heard were the words he had been trying to tell her for months: “ _Will you marry me, Adrien Agreste_?”

He opened his eyes and found his lady on the floor, one knee down while the other leg supported her, a little box caressed in her petite hands. A golden ring glowed under the moonlight, a humble emerald placed in the center of the ring. His heart couldn’t stop thumping and he felt tears gathering up in the corners of his eyes, promising to fall soon. He couldn’t stop them and he didn’t want to. All he cared about at that moment was to pick up his girlfriend, his fiancée, his future wife off the ground and swing her around, the two falling to the ground in a pile.

They both started laughing as Adrien rummaged in his pocket for his own velvet box, opening it up to her and reveling in the fact that he was finally able to say those sweet words he had been trying to say all this time: “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, will _you_ marry _me_?”

The two looked at each other in silence, all smiles. They answered each other’s questions with a passionate kiss, lips open agape and tongues battling each other for dominance. Their hands groped at each other, clutching each other’s clothing, their kisses getting deeper and more romantic as the moonlight danced against them. After a moment of heated fervor, the two broke away, their faces glowing in a nice, crimson color, huge grins plastered on their ruddy faces.

Simultaneously, they whispered _yes_ ’s to each other, their hands wrapped around each other’s, as they looked into each other’s eyes, ocean blues staring at a sea of green; and all Adrien could think of right now was, “God, I love her.”

**Author's Note:**

> I like to torture Adrien. :-)


End file.
